


Quick Reverse Turn and a Triple Jive

by aerye



Category: due South
Genre: Multi, OT3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-27
Updated: 2011-01-27
Packaged: 2017-10-15 03:46:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/156715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aerye/pseuds/aerye





	Quick Reverse Turn and a Triple Jive

Ray whistled coming up the stairs. It was Friday and he was feeling fine—he stopped to do a quick reverse turn on the landing, threw in a triple jive just for fun, and hit the next flight two steps at a time.

He was late. Really late. In fact, about two hours late. Things had been fine and then the Dixon thing blew up after lunch and that was the ballgame. Now it was going on seven and Fraser and Vecchio had expected him two hours ago.

He turned the corner on the last flight of stairs, and stopped dead in his tracks. The door to the apartment wasn't closed. It wasn't open, exactly, just ajar, but all of his cop instincts went _bing, bing, bing_ and a kaleidoscope of faces played through his head (Metcalf, Zuko, Muldoon, any one of a number of beefy, illiterate Vegas mob guys—Vecchio and Fraser had a whole hit parade of people who had it in for them). Ray drew his gun and hugged the wall, and thanked god for the shitty carpet that muffled the sound of his boots. He nudged the door with his shoulder and it glided back silently, opening enough for him to slip through.

Inside the apartment he paused, listening. No Dief. That couldn't be a good sign, could it? But there were lights on in the living room and bedroom, casting shadows in the hallway, and half-unpacked boxes still piled up everywhere. Ray could smell chicken cooking—Vecchio had obviously had a chance to start dinner.

He started down the hall as quietly as possible.

Just as the silence was really starting to freak him out (dead! dismembered!) he heard the quietest of moans, low and drawn out. He froze again, concentrating. That was Vecchio. Which meant that whatever else might be wrong, at least they weren't—well, at least Vecchio wasn't— _dead_. And that was a win, right? A partial one anyway, all things being equal. He crept down the hallway, eyes and ears straining for something, anything, and then he stumbled when the toe of his boot got caught in something.

It was Vecchio's jacket, the brown ("—cinnamon, Kowalski, _cinnamon_ —") Armani he'd worn to work that morning. And a few inches further down he could see Vecchio's shirt, the bright orange one (" _Melon_. Jeezus, you philistine—"). And Vecchio's tie and Fraser's tunic, and Fraser's—

Those bastards. Those horny fucking bastards. Ray grinned and released the breath he was holding, and sheathed his gun. He'd show them. He ducked his head around the corner, already opening his mouth to give them a hard time.

And found he couldn't make a sound.

They were—god, they were fucking _beautiful_. All wrapped up in each other and the room smelling like sex—sweat and fucking and Vecchio's cologne. It looked like they'd started on the sofa—which they'd left a messed up heap of pillows—but now they were on the floor, braided together in a tangle of limbs, their knees and elbows thrown into relief and skin gleaming in the warm light. They were half sitting, half lying, Fraser with his back against the sofa and Vecchio on top, all the tension drained out of him; he looked like soft, warm putty in Fraser's lap. Fraser looked almost as used up as Vecchio, damp hair falling onto his forehead and his chest rising and falling fast as he tried to get his breathing under control.

Ray drew a shaky breath. Looking at them like that—his chest was tight; he could feel the blood pulsing in his temples and in his dick and he felt—Jesus, turned on and left out, and so fucking in love with both of them.

Vecchio lifted his head and smiled down at Fraser, the smile that meant Fraser had pushed him into giving it all up, that Fraser had turned him inside out. He put his hands on Fraser's face, stroking, just looking. Fraser smiled back, small but brilliant, and Vecchio drew in a deep breath. "Ah, Benny…" he sighed, and tilted Fraser's face up to kiss him.

They weren't even thinking about him.

He should say something. This was not kosher, him lurking in the doorway like this, watching. He shouldn't let them keep thinking they were alone, but the thing was, he couldn't tear his eyes away or make himself speak. Because he knew what it was like to kiss Vecchio when he was like this, all relaxed and stupid from sex. And what it was like to kiss Fraser, who was all control on the outside, and molten heat on the inside. He knew Vecchio was making those soft breathy sounds that you couldn't hear from way over here in the doorway, and that the heat was rising off of Fraser like a reactor on overload.

He'd been with them both, separately and together, but he'd never imagined them together without him in the equation. Oh, he'd known Vecchio had once been crazy about Fraser—Vecchio had admitted as much—and he'd always suspected that Fraser used to feel the same, even if he'd never been willing to talk about it. But he'd never really _thought_ about it before. Didn't know if he liked thinking about it. Didn't _not_ like it, exactly, but—

 _Leave_ , Ray thought. He should leave. He _could_ leave, he could, and come in again, and make a whole bunch of noise—no, no, he should _call_ , yeah, and say he was on his way, and he could go down to the place on the corner and have a quick Coke or something and then come back again—

"I don't get this sometimes." Vecchio said, out of the blue, kinda soft and quiet. Hushed, like he was confessing or something.

"Don't get what, Ray?" Fraser's attention was divided. Vecchio was trailing a hand down Fraser's chest, idly tracing a nipple, a rib, and it looked like Fraser was trying to watch his fingers and his face at the same time. Vecchio's fingers reached Fraser's belly and Fraser drew in a breath sharply.

"Ticklish, Benny?" Vecchio asked with a smile, like him and Ray hadn't used that particular weapon against Fraser before.

"Ray—"

"Kidding, kidding." Vecchio's smile faded, his expression pensive. He slid off of Fraser's lap and leaned back against the sofa, next to him.

"What don't you get, Ray?" Fraser asked softly, and Vecchio shrugged and took a deep breath.

"You. Me. Us." A pause. "Kowalski." Vecchio waved his hand around in a gesture that seemed to encompass the universe. "This."

"This." Fraser's voice sounded carefully neutral. "Our relationship—yours and mine and Ray's?"

"Yeah." Vecchio leaned into Fraser's shoulder. "Yeah. You and me and him."

Fuck. Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck. Vecchio didn't _want_ this? Vecchio had just—what—been going along? Going through the motions? Settling for Fraser so he could get—? Or— _fuck_ —settling for _him_ so he could get—

 _Oh, Jesus Christ, oh, Christ—_

Ray could see from the frown on Fraser's face that what Vecchio had said wasn't sitting too well with him either. In fact, Fraser looked downright uncomfortable all of a sudden, like someone just mentioned to him that he was naked. He cleared his throat. "Ray—Ray and I would never want to make you uncomfortable—"

"No, Benny, no, no, no—not that. It's not like that. That's not it at all." Vecchio leaned over and kissed Fraser, and it took Fraser a second to get with the program, like he was giving Vecchio a chance to change his mind. Vecchio kept at it, though, and finally Fraser relaxed and kissed him back.

"It's just—I wanted you so much, Benny," Vecchio whispered softly into

Fraser's ears, cheeks, throat—whispers that were hard to make out, and Ray didn't know if he wanted to hear them anyway. "I wanted you so much and I didn't know how—I didn't know what it _meant_. I didn't know, I swear. I wanted you and I just didn't know what to do with it."

"I—knew, Ray. I wanted you, too, and I knew—I knew there was—something—" Fraser looked down at his hands. "I knew how you felt."

"But you didn't— Didn't you want to—?" Vecchio's confusion was obvious, and his hurt.

Fraser shook his head. "You were my friend, Ray. I didn't know how to ask for one without risking the other, and your friendship was— _is_ —so important to me." Fraser shook his head. "I was afraid. And then you were gone and Ray was there—"

Ray could see Vecchio start to withdraw and he held his breath. "—and you fell in love with him," Vecchio finished.

Fraser looked up at Vecchio, like he had to say this open and honest and looking straight into Vecchio's eyes, which of course he did, because that was Fraser. Straight down the line. "And I fell in love with him."

And it was stupid, this wave of—relief?—sweeping through him. He _knew_ Fraser loved him, just liked he loved Fraser. And he loved Vecchio, goddamn it. They all loved each other — wasn't that the whole fucking point of this thing anyway—?!

"But you—" Vecchio hesitated, and then Ray could almost see him thinking 'what the hell' and plowing ahead anyway. "He left you. Kowalski left."

Fraser nodded once. Tight. "He left."

"It's none of my business." Vecchio was withdrawing again, pulling away from Fraser, and Ray was suddenly afraid of how far he'd go.

 _Don't let him, Fraser. Don't let him go._

Fraser stopped Vecchio with a hand on his arm. "He didn't tell you?"

Vecchio started to shake his head, then stopped and nodded shortly. "Some. Not much."

"Ah." Fraser leaned back against the sofa again, his hand still resting on Vecchio's arm. "He— We didn't know how to make it work."

The bleakness in Fraser's voice was old knife that could still cut deep. Ray stared down at the toes of his boots—he couldn't bear the look on Fraser's face.

"We tried but he wasn't happy. Ray needed more than I could give him. And I thought I needed other things more than I wanted him. In the end, he decided to leave and I let him go." Fraser took a deep breath. "And he came back to Chicago and fell in love with you."

Ray looked up in time to see the sudden color come into Vecchio’s face. Embarrassment and a kind of triumph. "He was—" Vecchio shook his head. "He was like gale force winds or something. He got under my skin, battered down every wall I had. I couldn't get him out of my head. I love him something crazy, Benny. I know it doesn’t make sense, him and me, but it worked, almost from the beginning. The first time—" Vecchio hesitated.

"The first time?"

"The first time it wasn't just about getting over you," Vecchio said, talking fast, trying to get through the last bit quickly, almost like an apology. "I didn't believe him when he said that. He said he was over you—"

 _—shit, shit, shit, Vecchio, there's full disclosure and then there's flapping your mouth off—_

"—and I told him he was full of shit." Vecchio flashed a quick grin. "And he was, Benny, you know he was, 'cause look around—I'd say the evidence vindicates me on this one. Anyway, I yelled at him, said that it would always be about you. And he—" Vecchio stopped and laughed, and Ray had to smile, because he remembered the conversation, too. "He said if he was just looking for quick fuck he'd find someone with more hair and fewer relatives."

Fraser smiled, too, and the tension in the room dropped a little. Vecchio shook his head. "When you came back, I thought for sure he was gonna toss me over for you. I thought he'd leave skid marks getting out the door. I'd never had you — never thought I'd ever have _you_ so that was like wishing after the moon—but I loved him so fucking much. What we had was good—it was _good_ , Benny—but I was sure he'd go with you." Vecchio gave Fraser a wry grin. "I hated your guts."

It was a shock to hear Vecchio admit it. Ray had been there, had seen Vecchio tense and silent, bitterly trying not to hope. Ray'd thought that was all behind them now.

"But then," Vecchio sobered again, "—believe it or not—everything I'd ever felt for you started to come back. I started feeling all of that all over again, and that made me even crazier—

"You weren't the only one facing that dilemma, Ray."

"Yeah?"

"I wanted Ray back. I came to _get_ him back." Fraser's voice was low but steady. "Regardless of who I had to take him from, regardless of what I had to do or—or what it would do to you." Ray could see Vecchio's jaw tighten and the color rise in Fraser's cheeks. Ray held his breath.

"And then I saw him with you and—I recognized what the two of you had. What he'd found with you. And I wanted that, too. What I'd never had the courage to ask for." Fraser touched Vecchio's face again, touched his cheek. "I hated you, too, Ray, but I also wanted you. Very much." Fraser hesitated.

"Benny?"

"Ray, it's important that you know that I wouldn't have—" Fraser stopped speaking again.

It felt like Ray and Vecchio were both holding the same breath.

"It's important that you know— It had to be both of you, Ray. _Has_ to be both of you. I won't settle for anything less."

"Ah, Benny, me, too. Me, too, me, too—"

Ray's eyes felt hot and he turned away, back into the cool, dark hallway. He reached up to wipe away the burn. He couldn't see—but then he didn't have to, he could hear, couldn't he? The whispers and the sighs, the hitched breathing and the soft, wet sounds from the room behind him. He could imagine the way Fraser was fitting himself over Vecchio and the way Vecchio looked, head flung back and throat working, hairy arms and legs coming up around Fraser and holding on tight. He could imagine the kissing—the way they would fit together. No space between them.

Oh, god. Ray pressed his hand against his mouth to keep all the sounds he wanted to make from escaping. Now was not the time to lose it. He needed to—to get back out without them hearing, and then turn around and come right back in, like it was the first time. Friday night, late for dinner, and a whole weekend ahead of them.

He hadn't lost anything, Ray reminded himself as he made his way back to the door. He hadn't lost anything. Everything was exactly the way it had been that morning, except maybe he'd left some half-baked notions behind, some stupid ideas about being in first place.

There was a sudden commotion at the window and Dief came in off the fire escape, covered in dried mud and leaves. He spied Ray and trotted up, tail wagging.

"Hey, Kowalski, is that you?" It was Vecchio, calling out from the living room. Dief was practically on top of Ray now, sniffing his pockets, but he lost interest quickly and took off for the living room.

"It is you. About time, goddamn it. If that chicken is ruined, you're buying us all dinner, Kowalski." Vecchio had taken the time to pull on his pants and shirt. "Of course, I didn't put it in until six, figured you'd manage to be late anyway— Kowalski?" Vecchio looked at him closely. "What's wrong—you're— Are you hurt? Is he hurt, Fraser?"

"We got Dixon," Ray finally said, talking past the tightness in his throat. "One hundred grams of crystal meth."

"Dime-bag Dixon?" Vecchio took him by the elbow and led him into the living room. Fraser had his pants on and was on his feet by the sofa, righting the pillows as he lectured Dief on cleanliness.

Vecchio pushed Ray down and Dief crowded up between his legs. "That's one for the good guys, then. Here," Vecchio reached over for a half-full bottle of beer sitting on the coffee table. "Take a sip—you look done in."

Fraser pulled on his sweater and sat next to Ray, clasping his shoulder. He looked at him carefully. "Are you sure you're all right, Ray? You do look very pale."

Deep breath.

Quick reverse turn and a triple jive.

God, he _loved_ them.

"Me, I'm fine, Fraser, unless your wolf here eats something important." He smiled.

"You look funny," Vecchio said, still frowning.

"Not as funny as you," Ray countered. He reached out and reeled Vecchio in, feeling the dampness through his shirt as he kissed him. "You started without me, you bastards."

"The Mountie jumped me," Vecchio murmured, grinning. He tasted like Fraser.

"Actually, as I recall, Ray—" Fraser started to say.

But they didn't let him finish.


End file.
